


Better Things

by mliz18



Series: Peaky Blinders Doing Their Best [1]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Smut, Slow Burn, Tommy can be a prick but he tries ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-08-10 22:11:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20142802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mliz18/pseuds/mliz18
Summary: To stay would be to begin something he could not finish, and to begin something he could not finish would be cruel.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter contains dialogue from episode 1x01, as well as the opening line to the poem 'Annabel Lee', by Edgar Allen Poe. I don't own either of these things.  
I'll probably come back and change some things but I hope you enjoy:)  
( *'s signal a POV switch)

Evie was not at all alarmed when Arthur crashed, bloody and vengeful, into the kitchen. She went through the familiar routine of filling a bowl with water and fetching a rag, finding him a bottle of whiskey, and pulling down her well-used box of bandages and salves from the shelf. Muscling Ada out of the way as she tried to improperly set one of Arthur’s fingers, she handed Arthur the bottle. 

“_ Some of us _ weren’t kicked out of nursing classes for gigglin', Ada.” She teased gently before adjusting the splint herself. She smiled down at her patient, taking a cursory inventory of his injuries.

“Quite the rumble you had yourself, my lad.” Arthur just grunted and muttered under his breath as she started to set his other broken fingers in splints with a practiced hand. Her mother had taught her to sew with a needle and thread when she was young, but after the Shelbys took her in it was Polly who’d taught her how to bandage wounds and set broken bones, and Evie had learnt quickly that stitching skin wasn’t quite the same as stitching fabric.

Through his groans and mumbled curses Evie could hear footsteps, light and quick, over the floorboards. She didn’t need to look up to know it was Tommy who burst through the doors, his elbows knocking hers as he pushed by her and Ada . She hastily made some space as he bent down, took a cursory look at Arthur’s swelling face and wet a cloth to wipe some of the dried blood from the cut on his forehead. It was routine. The Shelby men always stumbled home with scrapes and cuts and bruises, and she was always there to set them right again. It wasn’t until Arthur’s mention of a robbery set Tommy back on his heels that dread, heavy and cold, started to knot in her stomach.

She tensed in the wake of silence that followed, and before she could get the words out she felt Tommy deliberately press his hand against hers. _ Later _. She squeezed his hand back to show she understood before bending down to poke at the purpling skin splitting over Arthur’s cheekbone, too aware of Tommy as he slipped behind her toward the door. As Tommy stalked out of the kitchen, Evie and Polly exchanged uneasy glances. 

There was a thrum of energy in the air, an uneasy anticipation that left them all on edge, but it wasn’t until a few hours later when Danny Whizbang mentioned a crate of missing guns that they started to come to a grim realization. Polly had gone out and returned with a pinched look over lips pressed into a straight line, and Evie knew. 

***

They didn’t find time to speak until early the next morning, while the others still slept soundly in their beds. Tommy slipped through her bedroom door that she’d left ajar and locked it firmly behind him to find her sat in her dressing gown in front of a half-folded pile of linens. She was refusing to look up at him but Tommy could still see the glare peeking out from under the curtain of dark hair falling in her eyes.

“Winston Churchill wouldn’t send a copper from Belfast all the way to Birmingham for a few stolen bikes.” Her voice was stiff, anger held loosely in check, and Tommy found himself wishing she were screaming instead. 

When he didn’t respond she took a shaky breath, her knuckles turning white as her fingers tightened around the sheet wrung through her hands.

“What’ve you done?”

“There was a mix-up at the BSA factory. My men stole the wrong crate.” 

“And just _ what _was in the crate you stole?” 

“Evelyn, I-”

“_ What _ was in the crate, Thomas?” She looked up at him now as flush spread across her cheeks like paint smudges, and even though she was angry he let himself just look at her for a moment.

“Twenty-five Lewis machine guns, 10,000 rounds of ammunition, fifty semiautomatic rifles, two hundred pistols with shells. Stolen from the proofin' bay instead of the export bay.” Her sharp intake of breath seemed to cut through the air between them. 

“Jesus, Tommy.”

“Pol’ told me to throw them in the Cut.”

“As you bloody well should.” She snapped, standing and pulling a cigarette from her pocket with shaking fingers. “For once in your life would you fuckin' listen to reason?” She struggled with her matchbox for a few moments until Tommy pulled his own out of his pocket and silently lit it for her. Evie took a few hard drags and he felt the overwhelming urge to take her small face in his hands and promise that nothing bad would come of this. But they would both know it to be a lie, and there was no hope in false promises.

“You run this city, everyone knows it. You're the _king_ of this city. Is that not enough for you?”

“No.”

“_ Why not _?” Underneath the anger he could hear the fear, the desperate plea to him, begging him to make her understand. He stayed quiet for a moment, walking slowly over to her bed to sit down, all the while turning the answer round and round in his mouth before speaking.

“D’you remember how people used to treat our mothers?” He could see Evie tense at the unwelcome mention, but he continued. “It was worse for yours, a Romani woman married to a _ gadje _, they were pushed around and beaten down every day of their lives.” He looked her straight in the eye. “No one will treat my family like that ever again. I don’t care if we have to fight and claw our way through, no one will ever treat you or Polly or my brothers that way. Not as long as I’m still drawin' breath. D’you understand?”

She watched him for a long while, brows furrowed and worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, taking her time putting out her cigarette while never taking her eyes off of him. Finally, she breathed a heavy sigh through clenched teeth before holding out her hand to him. Something tense inside Tommy unspooled and he allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief at her forgiveness.

“Shall we make breakfast?” He took her small hand in his and the tentative olive branch she offered, hoping the trust she was putting in him now wasn’t dangerously misplaced.

They were the only early risers in the Shelby family and their mornings were a quiet, practiced dance. She made eggs and sausages while he fixed her tea and toasted the bread. They sat and read, him the ledgers and her whatever book she was tearing through, until the others woke and they went together to open shop for the day. Every morning Tommy savored this small pocket of intimacy, their shared moments of domesticity that allowed him to imagine the kind of future for himself that he knew men like him didn’t ever reach. The kind where heaps of children ran underfoot and men slept curled around their wives instead of their pistols. Small Heath was not a beautiful place, but when rare sunlight filtered through the filmy windows to cast its slanting beams across the kitchen and bathe Evie in gold, Tommy wouldn’t trade it for Buckingham fucking Palace. 

It was the moments when she wasn’t looking, when she was buried in one of her books or bending over the frying pan, that Tommy would sit back and allow himself to drink her in, to count for the thousandth time the light scattering of freckles over her nose and follow the skewed trail of a stray dark curl as it escaped its pinnings. 

How delicious it would be to wind his hand through those thick curls and pull her flush to him, to graze the smooth skin of her neck with his teeth until her breathing was ragged, to hear the rise and fall of her moans blooming out into the silent air around them. How delicious it would be to give in, to put his desires before her safety. But he couldn’t, and he wouldn’t. So Tommy settled for the small moments he considered theirs alone, shoving the hazy and undefined feelings to the back of his mind when he left her to conduct business for the day. This life of theirs left no room for distractions.

Sometimes he allowed himself a small moment of selfishness. On nights like tonight when sleep would not come Tommy found himself padding silently to her room. When they were children they would sneak out while the others slept, crawling through her window and slipping down the edge of the roof to revel in a quiet Small Heath bathed in silver moonlight that belonged to them alone. Walking hand in hand, they’d learned together the city’s nooks and crannies and secrets. 

Since he’d come home from France his head had been full of the sound of picks and shovels and the death rattle of dying men’s lungs. Sleep invited nightmares, and sometimes sleep refused to come at all. At first the opium sunk him into enough of a stupor to carry him through the dark side of the morning to the first peeking rays of dawn, but one night Evie caught him using it and wrestled the pipe away from him, breaking it over her knee. She’d yelled and cried and shook her small fists at him, only calming down when he promised to come to her if he needed instead of turning to the drugs.

“No matter the hour, Thomas." she'd insisted. "There are better ways to chase away the ghosts.” 

Evie roused awake as easily as she always did, and reached to the stack of books by her bed as he stretched out slowly on the creaky mattress beside her.

“Would you like a new one, or your favorite?”

“Mm, a new one.” He heard her hum as pages rustled for a moment before she settled. He closes his eyes as she began, pages lit by the sliver of moonlight that crept through the window. 

“It was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea…”

The soft and low melody of her voice relaxed the knots in his muscles and soothed the ache in his brow. It was like balm to a bruise, honey flowing thick and sweet over the tongue. Her room smelled of her perfume, amber and musk, and its scent filled the darkness around him until there was no more room for mud and smoke and blood. When Tommy’s eyelids eventually grew heavy he forced himself up and out of her warm bed, pausing to press a brief kiss to Evie’s temple in thanks before slipping out of her door. He was always tempted to stay, to allow himself to curl around her, to let her softness to become his softness. He wanted to fall asleep beside her and wake up to the sunbeams streaming over her face, but waking her was selfish enough. To stay would be to begin something he could not finish, and to begin something he could not finish would be cruel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chester Campbell had seen worse things in his life than gangsters and thieves, but still he shivered.

Evie watched the new barmaid’s eyes follow Tommy as he wove through the throng of drinking men to where she was sitting against the wall. Women always watched Tommy, eyes sliding over him like a mouse watching a tomcat, breathless and fearful. Their eyes followed him everywhere, but there was something about Grace’s eyes that Evie didn’t trust, a grim determination that didn’t align with the playful flirting Tommy had just been politely ignoring. He quirked an eyebrow at her as he handed her a drink.

“She watches you.”

“A lot o’ people watch me, Evie.”

“They watch you because they’re scared, or curious. She isn’t watchin' you with fear or curiosity, she’s watchin' you with purpose.”

He gave her a long look but didn’t respond. She stared right back, unintimidated.

“Have you ever known me to be a particularly irrational woman, Thomas Shelby?” She asked calmly. He sighed.

“No.”

“So you’ll be careful around her?”

“Yes.” She patted his shoulder as she straightened up.

“Good lad. I’ll see you a’ the house later.” 

She stopped at the bar to peck Arthur and John goodnight on their cheeks before heading to the door, making sure to flash Grace a sugar-sweet smile as she went.

She was halfway home when she heard her name being called from behind. She turned towards the lilting Irish accent to see a man matching Arthur’s vivid description of the copper who’d dragged him from the movie and beaten him bloody. 

“Evenin', Inspector.” She said warily, starting to turn back to her walk home when a casually uttered question made her freeze.

“What do you know about a robbery? I’m looking for something, something precious,” his voice was nonchalant but the sharp gleam in his eyes betrayed his fervor, “and I think you might have an idea of where that something is.” 

“You gave my older brother quite a beatin', Inspector.” She said coolly. “Even if I knew somethin', which I don’t, I wouldn’t put sensitive information in the hands of a brute like you.” His lip curled, seizing on the small morsel she’d just offered him.

“But he isn’t your brother, is he, Miss Murphy? You’re just the poor street rat taken in by a pack of wild animals.” 

He started advancing slowly, head cocked as he watched her, forcing her back step by step until her back was pressed up against cold brick. He was all she could see, crowding her vision and looming over her, forcing her to shrink herself to look up at him. She could feel his hot breath against her cheek.

“I -” Her voice was violently cut off as he wrapped his hands around her throat in a grip like iron. She choked and gagged, slapping and tugging at the hands, but it was no use. He reached one of his hands down to rip open the top buttons of her blouse before reaching further down between her legs to drag the hem of her skirt slowly up her thighs. Smirking as she strained frantically against him, he hooked a finger around the small pistol she kept tucked in a garter. Campbell used the cold tip of it to brush back a strand of hair that had fallen in her eyes.

“You would do well to remember, Miss Murphy, that your pack cannot protect you. Not when the law and the Crown are on my side.” He squeezed harder and kept her pinned there against the wall, until her vision blurred and darkness started to creep in around the edges. When he released her she crumpled to the ground, gasping like a fish and clawing at her throat.

She wasn’t sure how long she laid there before she heard the yelling. She distantly thought that it sounded like John, but she couldn’t be sure, and it seemed to be coming closer.

“Evie? Evie, can you open your eyes? Look at me, love.” She forced her heavy eyelids open to see John and Arthur staring down at her. John looked nearly green and Arthur’s hands were trembling as he quickly covered her with his coat. She knew what they saw, her lying spread-eagle on the ground with her skirt shoved up nearly to her hips and her breasts bared.

“There’s a good lass,” Arthur said, relieved.

“Who did this,” John growled, “who _ fuckin' _did this?”

“Inspector.” She wheezed, her breath a shallow rattle in her chest. Arthur and John went still.

“And did he…” Arthur trailed off hesitantly.

“No,” she managed, “just made sure to show me that he could.” 

“Can you sit up for me?” Arthur’s voice was gentle but she could hear the underlying urgency. She tried but couldn’t seem to even move her fingers, let alone the rest of her body. In the end, Arthur scooped her up to carry her home while John ran ahead to warn the rest of the family about what had happened. 

By the time Arthur set her gently down in the kitchen, Evie had regained feeling in her fingers and her lungs no longer felt as if they were on the brink of collapse. Ada was pacing anxiously while Polly wrapped her in a blanket and handed her a mug of strong tea with a generous glug of whiskey splashed in. They talked heatedly amongst themselves while Evie sipped the tea and started to feel warmth spreading through her body again. John kept reaching out to touch her shoulder as if to make sure she was really there, and she tried to give him a comforting smile but couldn’t seem to manage it.

“Does Tommy know?” She asked. The rest fell quiet, but the grim looks on their faces told her all she needed to know. Tommy chose that precise moment to burst through the door like a streaking bullet, crossing the room in two long strides to crouch down in front of her chair. He cupped her face in both hands, gentle but desperate, and looked her up and down as if to reassure himself that she was in one piece. Relaxing slightly, he leaned forward to press a kiss to the top of her head before straightening up, staring intently at the door. They were all tense, watching him like a grenade whose pin had been pulled and sneaking wary glances at each other.

“Right.” He murmured to himself. “Right.” He was about to begin issuing orders when Evie struggled to her feet.

“No.”

“No?” Tommy echoed flatly. “John told me they found you nearly half dead in the gutter, and you’re asking me to do nothin'?” Evie could see the others tactfully slipping out of the kitchen door behind them. She sighed and softened her voice.

“I’m asking you to do nothin' _for now _. Now, I seem to be having a bit of trouble walkin', could I trouble you to help me up to my room?” The muscles in his jaw were still twitching violently, and he looked from her to the door and back to her again. She raised an eyebrow and he reluctantly offered her his arm. 

******

He was staring up at the ceiling, counting the knots in the wood for the thousandth fucking time, when he heard his door creak open. The war was not yet far gone enough that he didn’t tense and reach for the gun under his pillow before seeing it was Evie.

She was pale in the low light, and the blackened purple and blue bruises stood out like a string of jewels around her neck. She saw him looking at them and her hand flew to her throat.

“Can’t sleep?” His low voice seemed harsh in the silence. She shook her head, so he shifted over in his bed to give her room to slide in beside him. They allowed silence to settle over them for a few minutes before she broke it.

“You can’t do anythin' rash.” 

“He put his fuckin’ hands on you.”

“He put his hands on Arthur, too.” 

“Arthur’s not you.” She made a small, frustrated noise and he had to work to keep a smile off his face.

“If you go after him spittin' mad you’ll make a mistake, and he’s just waitin' for you to fuck up. So please, for me, don’t do it.” She grabbed the hand that was fisted in the sheets and forced him to look at her. The light was dim but the moonlight spilling through the window made her eyes flash a pale silver, and he could just make out the spill of dark curls over her shoulders. _ Beautiful _. Beautiful and nearly dead because of him.

"Please.” She pleaded. 

“Fine.” He relented, “I won’t do anythin' _yet _. That’s as much as I can promise.”

“As long as you can also promise that whatever you do, you’ll think it through. We can’t afford any mistakes, not now.” He squeezed her hand.

“Promise.” Satisfied, she laid back down beside him. 

“D’you want me to read?” He felt her curls brush against his shoulder as she shook her head.

“I just couldn’t fall asleep alone, I can still feel his filthy hands on my thighs.” _ Bastard _.

“You can fall asleep here, I won’t let him lay a finger on you again.” 

“Tommy?”

“Mm?”  
“I’m gonna need a new pistol.” 

“Evelyn, I’m gettin' you a whole fuckin’ armory.” Silence fell between them again and eventually Tommy heard her breathing shift, deep and even. He waited a few minutes to be sure, and then rose to carefully lift her out of bed. She always seemed small, but gathered against his chest she seemed devastatingly fragile. He tried to ignore the way she seemed to nuzzle deeper into the crook of his shoulder in her sleep, just like he tried not to look at the bruises dappling her neck as he gently laid her down in her own room.

_ Bastard. _She’d always been strong, and that made it easy to forget how small she was, how vulnerable her position in the family made her even though it was the family that had saved her in the first place.

Evelyn had been a ghost at first, a small shadow darting to and from their front steps hoping for food scraps. Polly had tried to coax her into the house with bread and a warm drink, but she would flit away so quickly it was like she had never been there at all. It was weeks before her mother’s body was found in their kitchen, the smell of decay and gunpowder tainting everything around it. So Polly went out without a word one afternoon and came back holding the small nine-year-old firmly by the hand, her expression making it clear that this was one decision not to be questioned. 

They were slow to warm to each other. Evie stayed close to Polly or watched silently from a distance, only letting Polly and eventually Ada near. Arthur and Tommy had been unnerved by the way she seemed to watch and study them, and John avoided her altogether. Everything about her at that time had seemed strange, leaving them with the distinct impression that she was something _ more _ , something that didn’t quite belong in Small Heath in the midst of the dirt and disarray. Out of everything, her silence and staring and the odd grace with which she moved, Tommy had been the most struck by her eyes. They were an unusual hazel-brown, so light that in the sun they looked almost gold, and they gave the uncanny impression of seeing right through someone, through their words and lies right down to their very core where all the important things hide away. Wise eyes. Arthur teased her still by calling her a _ chov’hani _, a witch.

They didn’t know what to do with her, until one afternoon when an older boy pushed Ada into the mud as they walked home from the schoolyard. Before her brothers could scramble to defend their family honor, Evie had drawn back a small fist and socked him right in the eye. And from that day on, she was theirs. 

He could remember when they were fifteen and he caught her kissing Robbie Hughes in Charlie’s yard. He and John and Arthur had chased him off and gave him a good wallop before sending him on home to lick his wounds. He remembers his brothers crossing their arms and sitting a very irate Evie down in the kitchen to tell her that she couldn’t go off “kissin’ boys and actin’ loose” as Arthur so delicately put it, that they were her brothers and weren’t going to let a single boy or man touch her. 

What Tommy remembered most clearly about that moment is that he didn’t really feel like her brother. She felt like family, family he loved just as fiercely as the rest of them, but he wasn’t her brother. A brother’s blood didn’t boil with jealousy at the sight of another man’s hands on his sister, didn’t leave him twitching to wrap his fingers ‘round his throat. But these feelings were too much for Tommy so when she looked to him, doe-eyed and pleading for help, he just shrugged.

“It’s a brother’s job to look out for his sister.” So she huffed and puffed and stomped away, leaving Tommy with the very uncomfortable awareness of something in the space between them, something growing and vibrant and very much alive. He didn’t know what to call it. The poets often called it a flame, and because he burned like wildfire when he looked at her Tommy decided that was close enough.

Ada looked up to her, Finn followed her everywhere, and Arthur could never refuse her a thing in the world. But it was Tommy who stuck to her like a second shadow, who stole books from the school for her that she treated like precious treasure and taught her how to use the small pearl-handled knife that she kept in her pocket like Polly. Family and maybe something else, but then the war came.

He sat at the bar in the Garrison, thinking about his promise to Evie as Grace cleaned glasses in front of him, looking pleased and hopeful at his attention. He studied her eyes but he couldn’t see what Evie saw. It would break his promise, but he had to be sure.

“One of your countrymen has come to Birmingham,” Tommy said after draining his glass and motioning to Grace to fill it again, “a copper from Belfast.” 

He could see the tiniest shake in Grace’s hand as it filled his glass, but her voice was even.

“From Belfast? I’ve not spent much time there myself.”

“And this copper,” Tommy continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “had an unfortunate encounter with Miss Murphy last night. Choked her within an inch of her life and left her unconscious on the street. You can see the exact outline of his hands ‘round her neck.” She wasn’t looking at him but he could tell that Grace had all but stopped breathing. _ Gotcha. _

“So I guess it’s good that you’re from Dublin, eh?” There was a hard edge in the silk soft purr of his voice “A nice girl like you wouldn't want to be acquainted with an animal like that..” He drained the second glass and stood to stalk out the door without a word.

  
******

Campbell had just watched Grace turn the corner and disappear behind a painting he was rather fond of not five minutes before when he heard a throat clear behind him. Probably Grace again. He opened his mouth to greet her but the other person spoke first.

“I always liked that one,” Evie said, “my father had a print of it in our house before he died.”

He started and went for the gun at his hip, but stopped short when he saw her turning the pistol over and over in her hands.

“Arthur taught me to pick pockets when I was eleven,” she admitted ruefully, “a good skill to have every now and again.” Grace. She must’ve done something to Grace. The thought had barely formed when she smiled up at him, but it was less a smile than teeth bared in warning. 

“Don’t worry, she’s fine. I’m not here for Grace, although Tommy is certainly less than pleased with her right now.” Her words did nothing to quell the worry churning in his chest. “Does she know you’re in love with her?” He ground his teeth but said nothing. The collar of her coat was turned up but he could see the faint ring of yellowing bruises. 

“Talk has been circulatin' among the whores in Birmingham,” she continued softly, “about the kind of man you are. A cruel man. A man who revels in other people’s pain just because he can.”

“And just _ why _ do I care about what a dirty whore says about me?” She turned to him then, eyes large and solemn in her face.

“You think you’re a good man because you enforce the law. But a man is defined by how he treats the people he considers beneath him, and you treat them cruelly just because you can. You think you’re a good man, and I want you to know that you’re not.” Her voice was quiet and light, as if she were discussing dress patterns or the weather.

A moment passed before he spoke.

“And you think your precious Thomas is a good man? He’s a gangster, a cutthroat.”

“This life has made him hard,” she agreed, “this life, this city, the war. But you wouldn’t know about the war, would you?” She smiled sweetly up at him. “Tommy’s cruelty is born of necessity, but it’s the way he treats the forgotten and the outcasts that proves to me how good he is under it all. You think the two of you are the same, but you couldn’t be more different. Don’t you see, Inspector? You’re rotten to the core.”

She adjusted her coat and walked out of the gallery without giving him a chance to speak. He hurried to the window to see her climb gracefully into a car waiting outside. The driver was barely more than a shadow, cigarette smoke curling around him like a veil, but then the man deliberately leaned forward to look through the window to Campbell. Blue eyes glared out at him from the shadow of the car, and even as far away as he was Campbell could feel the rage radiating out from them, sweeping over him like a wave. The message was clear: _ You’ll never touch her again, she is ours, she is mine _. Chester Campbell had seen worse things in his life than gangsters and thieves, but still he shivered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is going to loosely take place along the events of season one and MAYBE of season two - Alfie is proving very difficult to write.  
I was looking up Romany words in an online glossary and that's where I found "chov'hani", although I came across several different spellings.  
Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The walls of their house were thin, and Evie often woke to a low cry or muffled thump spilling through the wood from Tommy’s room. She usually heard him rouse, and he would either settle again or drift into her room to wake her. She often worried that she wouldn’t be enough to keep him from tumbling back into the pit that the opium had put him in, and even if the hour was late she was always relieved when he chose to come to her instead. She knew the nighttime visits were born of necessity rather than pleasure, but she treasured them all the same. But on this night the noises were growing louder and more frantic. 

As the thumping and muffled groans continued, Evie knew he wouldn’t wake or settle or take refuge in her bed. She slipped into his room to find him thrashing and gasping against the bedding. Swallowing the lump welling up in her throat she reached out to grasp his shoulders. The fabric was damp with cold sweat under her fingers as she shook him gently.

“Tommy,” she whispered, “Tommy it’s orright, France is over. You’re safe now, eh? You’re safe now.” She kept whispering words of comfort as she carefully untangled his arms from the sheets. “You’re home. You’re safe now, soldier.” He woke with a strangled cry to find her leaning over him. His eyes were like a wild horse, so wide that the whites were showing as they rolled in his head. He gripped her so tightly she knew there would be bruises wrapped around her arms come morning but she held him and spilled soothing whispers until his muscles went limp against her. It took a few moments for recognition to light in his eyes as his chest heaved from the weight of the tunnels in his head, and when he came back to himself he let go of her like he’d been burned. Tommy ducked his head for a long while as they sat in silence, and when he looked back up at her his eyes were his own again, tired but alert.

He murmured that he was fine, but he was avoiding her gaze and there was a pinched look about him that told Evie otherwise.

“I can stay,” she offered quietly, “to read and chase the nightmares away.” 

He was silent for so long that she started to think he didn’t hear her, but when she reached out for him his head snapped back up, leaning ever so slightly away from her touch.

“No need, sorry for wakin’ you.” Her face must’ve shown her skepticism because the corners the corners of his mouth twitched up into an almost-smile, softening the hard planes of his face.

“Nothin' to be done about it, don’t waste breath worryin’ for me.” 

“I feel like I can’t leave you like this.” She whispered. He chucked her lightly under the chin.

“Go on, I’ll see you in the morning.” 

******

He found himself holding his breath while he made their coffee the next morning, waiting for the gentle probing or the well-intended sympathy. It never came. She gave no indication that they’d spoken last night, for which Tommy was truly grateful. It was one thing to know about the nightmares, and another thing entirely to see them up close. She’d gotten plenty close, close to the fear and the panic that left him dazed and disoriented. He was sure that she had bruises in the shape of his palms on her arms but he was too ashamed to ask, and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to accept her touch, to let her comfort him. 

Finn tumbled down the stairs earlier than normal that morning, mumbling a greeting and picking at the food Evie set in front of him. He was fidgeting and biting his lip, casting Evie surreptitious glances over his breakfast.

Tommy had to prompt him three times before Finn blurted out “Is it true that you’re a witch, Evie?” She opened her mouth, shut it, and looked to Tommy in bewilderment.

Finn took a deep breath. “Johnsaysthatyoucanflayamanjus’bylookin’athimandthatyopluckouttheirbonesforyourcharmsandthingsandIwanttoknowifit’strue.” Evie blinked into the onslaught of words that were little more than smushed-together syllables but, with what must have been an incredible expression of restraint, managed to keep a straight face.

“Why do you ask, Finn?”

“Witches can fix anythin'.” he said as if it were obvious, looking her up and down dubiously as if now doubting her ability to flay men on sight and pluck out their bones.

“And what do you need fixed, my lad?” He looked down and murmured something into his breakfast.

“What was that? My witchy hearin' seems to be off today.” Tommy snorted into his paper.

“I said I’ve been havin’ nightmares.” Embarrassment colored his voice. Evie’s face softened and she reached for him over the table.

“Well I’m not a witch, but a good hug fixes everythin', you know.” Evie told him seriously as she smoothed the fledgling-like tuft of hair sticking up on the top of his head. 

At ten years old Finn considered himself on the cusp of manhood, but as dignified as he wanted to appear Tommy could see him hesitating. With a solemn expression, Evie held out her arms in invitation and Fin abandoned his pride to snuggle happily into her lap. 

“Nothin' wrong with nightmares, dearest, we all have them.”

Finn twisted in her lap to look up at her suspiciously. “Even men?” Tommy saw her fight to swallow a grin.

“Yes, love, even men.” She caught Tommy’s eye and inclined her head slightly to his brother. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Her pointed look turned into a glare, so he sighed and put down the papers he’d been reading.

“Everyone gets nightmares, Fin. I do.” Finn stared up at him with wide eyes, and Tommy felt a familiar ache in his chest, the protective urge that would never be enough to keep him from the life he was headed towards.

“Really?” He turned back around to look at Evie. “Can I sleep in your bed tonight, in case they come back?”

“A grown lad like you? I’m sure you don’t need that.” Fin continued to plead so Tommy cleared his throat.

“You’re too old for that, Finn, but I’m sure if you ask nicely Evie will read you a story tonight to help you sleep.” After looking to her for confirmation, Finn happily scampered out of the kitchen.

“Thank you,” she sighed, “as much as I love Finn he snores somethin' awful, makes for a bloody poor bed fellow.”

“Completely self-servin', but you’re welcome.” 

“How’s that?” 

“Where would I go when I’m the one who can’t sleep?” 

Her answering laugh was bright as a bell as it rang out through the sunny kitchen, turning into a breathless greeting to Pol’ as she came down the stairs for a coffee and a cigarette.

******

“I think he’d like if you read him the story tonight.” Evie suggested, but he shrugged it off.

“He’ll have to settle for you. I’m taking Grace to do business at Cheltenham today, I’ll probably be back late.”

Evie froze with her cup halfway to her lips. She looked to Pol’ to see her own bewilderment and disbelief mirrored on Polly’s face. She turned back to Tommy, who was leafing through the paper and ignoring the way his words had fallen like heavy stones in still water.

“You wouldn’t happen to mean Grace the barmaid who was spyin' on you?” She asked politely. 

“Yes.”

“The one who was spyin' for the copper who left me half-dead in the street?”

“That’s the one.”

“Ah.” She turned back to Polly, silently beseeching her for help.

“Tommy,” Polly’s voice was impatient “why is she interested in helpin' you now that you’ve compromised her military mission?.”

“She feels guilty, and she thinks I’m wet with love,” Tommy said absently, “thinks she has me right where she wants me. She’s hopin' I’ll trust her,”

“Do you?” Evie asked warily, not completely sure she wanted to hear the answer.

“I trust her self-interest.”

“You don’t need the spy, I could help you with whatever your dealings with Kimber are.”

“No need to worry yourself about that, Grace will do just fine.” He drained his coffee and stood. “Good mornin', ladies.” 

Evie watched him stride out the door. 

“I swear that man is going to be the death of me.” Polly muttered.

“Do you think he is? Wet with love, I mean.” The strained quality of her voice was as apparent to Polly as it was to her. She sighed.

“It’s hard to tell with men. They follow their dicks wherever they may lead them, even those as smart as Thomas.” She looked at Evie with an odd expression on her face. 

“It’s funny,” she said softly, “I always thought that one day...perhaps the two of you…” trailing off, she shook herself out of her reverie and squeezed Evie’s shoulder before following after Tommy to open shop, leaving Evie to nurse her bruised ego alone.

Evie heard Tommy knocking around in the kitchen after she finished reading Finn’s story and made sure to duck into her room before he came upstairs. She didn’t want to speak to him, didn’t want to chance seeing if Grace had marked her territory. A brief vision of Tommy with lipstick smeared on his collar made Evie slightly nauseous. She padded to the precariously stacked piles of books and picked one at random, eager to think about anything else, but the stacks of books just reminded her that it was Tommy who had given her most of them. _ Fucking Thomas _. She took Blake and his musings to her bed and settled in.

Not twenty minutes had passed before she heard a faint knock at the door. She briefly considered pretending to be asleep, but he would come in and wake her anyway. 

“Come in.”

She barely gave Tommy more than a cursory glance as he came to sit at the end of her bed with his hands clasped, a picture of innocence. 

“Did you get what you needed?” She asked coolly over the pages of her book. He hummed in response and nodded his head. 

“Well,” she said crisply as she turned a page, “I’m glad you’ve found someone you trust to help you with business.”

“Evelyn.”

“Mm?” 

“Are you jealous?” _ Jealous _. She ground her teeth, fighting the urge to give him a well-deserved thump on the back of his head.

“_ No _ I’m not jealous you colossal _fuckin_' prick.” Even as the words left her mouth she felt uneasy. _ Was she jealous? Shit. _ She shoved the unwelcome thought aside.

“But you’re upset.” He prompted. She bit her lip as he waited expectantly.

“You asked a stranger for help _ instead of me _ . She betrayed you and yet you still trusted her with family business _ instead of me _.” Her words hung in the air for a moment as he looked at her, his eyes unreadable.

“D’you know why I needed a woman at the races today?” She shook her head slowly. “She was an offer to Kimber. I served her up on a silver platter in front of him, wearin' his favorite color and all.” He pauses for a moment, daring her to respond.

“But d’you know what? At the last minute, I couldn’t go through with it. Even though you were right and she’s workin' with the Inspector, I couldn’t. And if I couldn’t offer up a complete stranger _ who’s workin' against me _ to Billy Kimber, what makes you think I would ever ask the same of you?” 

A tense moment followed as they stared at each other before Evie let out the breath she’d been holding.

“I thought you didn’t trust me.” She admitted ruefully. She was rewarded with a quick but warm smile.

“‘Course I trust you, even if I can be a colossal fuckin' prick at times.” As he patted her shoulder bracingly she heard Arthur’s voice booming through the rickety house. 

“We’re up here, Arthur.” Evie called back and they both bit back a smile as he stumbled into her room, clearly deep in his cups.

“Did he tell you the big plan? His big surprise?” Tommy started to speak but Arthur cut him off.

“We’re buyin’ the Garrison!” He had to lean against her bed for balance but Arthur was beaming ear to ear. “We’re buyin’ the fuckin’ Garrison and Tom’s put _ me _ in charge. That’s somethin’ eh?” He bent down to give Evie a big smacking kiss on the cheek.

“That’s a lovely idea,” she squeezed his hand, “just make sure you don’t drink more than you pour eh?” Tommy smothered a chuckle but Arthur whipped his head around to him.

“Look a’ him, look how soft he’s gone” Arthur crowed. Tommy ducked his head but Evie could see the shadow of a pleased smile ghost over his face. “Buyin’ his big brother the one thing he’s always wanted. You’ve gone soft, Tom.” 

Tommy stood up and grasped one of Arthur’s arms, motioning for Evie to do the same. “I think it’s time for that big brother to turn in for the night, don’t you?” She giggled and took Arthur’s other arm, and together the two of them led him gently down the hall to his room. Tommy took his shoes off while Evie went to fill a glass of water to leave by the bed. Arthur allowed them to leave only after being assured for the fourth time that they thought it would be a good idea.

“That was a good thing you did for him.” Evie whispered once they had shut Arthur’s door carefully behind him, but he waved away her praise.

“Did Finn get to sleep alright?” She grinned.

“The story didn’t help, so I spouted some gibberish and waved the chicken bones from dinner over his bed.” Tommy snorted. 

“Fuckin’ amazin'.” He turned towards his room but stopped and looked back at her for a moment. She could barely see more than the shine of his eyes in the dim light but she could feel his nervous energy. 

“Just so you never go doubtin' me again, there’s no one I trust more than you.” And then he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains dialogue from episode 1x04 as well as the opening line from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, neither of which I own:)  
Thank you to everyone who has been giving me feedback so far! I would love to hear whatever else you guys have to say.

“Whenever we gave up ground to the Germans, we’d leave behind booby traps set with wire. And we’d leave wire cutters as part of the joke.” Tommy’s words seemed loud as thunder in the silence that surrounded them, thick and stifling. Every muscle in Evie’s body was tense, urging her to run, to run and hide from the danger and the wire cutters still brandished in Tommy’s hand. Her breath seemed stuck in her throat and as she looked to Tommy she could see her own alarm mirrored faintly in his eyes.

“Somewhere in here, there’s a hand grenade.” John whispered, as if speaking too loudly would set it off.

“Holy Jesus.” Polly said faintly.

“Attached to a wire. Don’t move any chairs, or open any doors.” Arthur ordered. “Go easy, John Boy, go easy.” They were all scanning the room frantically, looking for any slight sheen of metal or oddly positioned furniture. There was nothing. And then Tommy realized.

“I was pretendin' I was you.” Finn giggled.

“Which door did you open to come in, Finn?” Evie could hear the tremor in Tommy’s voice as he inched slowly toward the car. Her heart was beating fast and hard in her throat but she crept forward slowly behind Tommy, ignoring his hands frantically motioning her away. Evie didn’t really believe in God anymore but she found herself praying anyway. _ Not Finn, please please please not Finn. Let it be me instead. _

“I didn’t, I climbed in.” Finn was still fiddling with the steering wheel, oblivious to his older brother's panic.“I want you to climb out exactly the same way you climbed in, okay?” Uninterested in what probably seemed like a game Tommy was playing, Finn reached for the door handle.

“No, no. FINN!” The click of the pin seemed unnaturally loud. The world slowed its spinning and it was as if Evie had all the time in the world to reach the car and pluck Finn from the door. As she twisted away from the cab time sped up again and suddenly she was on the ground with Finn cradled safely in her arms. Dazed and feeling like her ears were full of cotton, she tried to sit up but found that she couldn’t. Finn was clinging to her and shaking, yelling her name but the words to answer him escaped her.

There was shouting and footsteps and suddenly Finn was being lifted out of her arms. Her vision was blurred and hazy but as she strained out she could see faint freckles and flashes of blue up close to her face. She reached out a hand to hesitantly feel for him and he grasped her hand to his chest. 

“Evelyn? Are you hurt?” She blinked as she thought about it. She felt separate from her body, her limbs moving heavily and awkwardly as if they didn’t belong to her. She couldn’t feel any pain but blood was blossoming on her dress like scattered rubies.

“I- Yes, I think I might be.” She said absently. Tommy nodded and carefully slid an arm around her. She wobbled a bit as she rose but she was able to stand. Finn wiggled out of Arthur’s arms and ran to her, teary-eyed and snot-nosed.

“I’m sorry Evie, I’m sorry it’s all my fault.” He threw his arms around her and it was as if he had knocked her back into herself. She staggered a little but managed to stay upright, trying not to crumple back down onto the gravel.

“It’s alright Finn, it wasn’t you. I’m alright.” She tried to smile down at him comfortingly but he just sniffled and squeezed her tighter. Spotting her wince, Tommy pried Finn’s arms off of her.

“Finn, you need to be gentle.” Tommy said, “You can see her once we get her all bandaged up, eh?” John stepped forward and took his little brother’s hand.

“I’ll take him. Make sure you get her a good stiff drink.”

She still felt a little dizzy as Tommy helped her sit down in the kitchen and rustled through her box of bandages and salves. The cut on her head had almost stopped bleeding but her shoulder ached like hell and her arms felt like they were in a bad way. She felt stiff and ungainly, like her body had been weighted down. Tommy batted Polly’s hands away as she tried to prod at Evie’s wounds, and had to all but haul Arthur and John out of the room by the scruffs of their necks. When Finn and John poked their heads back in he stood up and yelled so the whole house could hear.

“The NEXT FUCKIN' PERSON to step foot in this room is getting thrown headfirst into the Cut, _ am I understood _?!?” Finn and John lept back and let the door slam shut behind them. Tommy ran a weary hand over his face.

“Alright, let me see. ” He gently tugged the sleeves of her dress up to examine the cuts and scrapes. “You’ll have a fair bit of bruisin' tomorrow I’d guess.” She tried to shrug, but her shoulders didn't seem to be working.

“There are more important things.” 

“I try to keep you away from the most dangerous parts of our business.” His voice was low and soft but she could hear the dark undercurrent of his anger, the rage simmering just beneath the surface. Bad things happened to people who sparked that rage, they disappeared on their evening walk home and turned up bloody and barely conscious on their own doorsteps. Evie almost felt sorry for the Lee family. “I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfires. Again.” She caught the edge of his sleeve and forced him to look up at her.

“They declared war against you, Tommy. That means they declared war against me. I'm a part of this business too.” She could see he disagreed with her, but he shook his head and let it go. She could see it, the regret he wore like a second skin and the fatigue that always seemed to cling to his bones. Rarely did she see him like this, rattled and reeling from being caught off guard.

“Alright, d’you feel hurt anywhere else?” He started gently patting her arms, and when he got to her left shoulder she yelped.

“_ Jesus _I must’ve landed on that badly.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth. 

“Right, well let me undo the back of your dress.”

“I - what?” He blinked at her and repeated himself.

“The back of your dress, so I can see what needs bandagin’.” When she didn’t move he lowered his hands and softened his voice.

“I can get Pol’ to come and do it, Evie, if you’d rather not have me lookin’ a’ you.” She started.

“No, no, it’s fine I’m sorry. My head must’ve been rung like a bloody bell, still feel a bit dazed.” She turned around in her chair so he could push the fabric of her dress aside. His touch was clinical, almost business-like, as he gently prodded her scrapes but she still fought back a shiver at the unexpected warmth of his hands. 

“I’ll have to remove some gravel that must’ve been embedded when you hit the ground. Might sting a bit.” She hummed in agreement and took a quick swig of the whiskey sitting on the table beside them as he reached for her.

“FUCK!” He heaved a sigh.

“What did I just say?” 

She grumbled and shifted a bit, gripping the back of the chair so tightly she thought the wood might crack and splinter under her fingers. After a time the sharp throbbing of her cuts and scrapes disappeared, and all she felt was the soft brush of his fingers against her skin. 

After one last cursory look at her shoulder he briskly pulled her dress back into place. Nudging her so that she would turn back toward him, he started to take a second look at the cut on her temple. 

“D’you want to talk about it?” His voice was low but Evie still jumped at the breach of silence. “About what you’re thinkin'.”

“And what am I thinkin'?” He lowered his hands from her head.

“You’re thinkin’ about the fact that if you had been half a second slower, you’d be blown to bits and strewn from Watery Lane all the way down to Charlie’s yard.” She tried to laugh but it was a half-hearted and brittle thing, and it didn’t fool either of them.

“Am I really that easy to read?” She asked weakly, staring down at the hands that had just bound her back together.

She’d bandaged his hands more times than she can count. _ Beautiful hands _, she’d always thought to herself as she cleaned his cuts and scrapes. Fine-boned but strong, with slender fingers criss-crossed by faint scars. Hands that could beat and break and kill but were also devastatingly gentle when they tucked a stray curl behind her ear or came to rest on the small of her back to guide her through a crowd. Hands that reached for her now.

“You’ve a face like glass, lass,” he murmured, “shows every thought that crosses your mind.” He trailed his fingers slowly down her cheek and she felt herself shiver under his touch. For a brief moment Evie could truly _ see _ him, see what was shining behind his eyes. It was raw and vulnerable and impossible to look away from. Overwhelmed by the sheer closeness of him, her breath caught behind her teeth as she was swallowed up by his gaze. Her hand snaked up to curl around his as it cupped her face. His eyes closed at her trembling and when they opened the fire had been doused. He dropped his hand and stood, composed once again. 

“Let’s get you up to bed. You need to rest that ringin' head o' yours.” He didn’t give her a chance to argue and calmly ignored her protests as he gently helped her out of the chair to lead her up the stairs.

****************

“Tommy?”

“Evie.”

“I - I might need some help with my dress.” Tommy blinked for a second. Her dress? She wanted to change?

“Your dress?” he echoed. She flushed and ducked her head, curls falling forward to hide her eyes.

“Well it’s covered in blood, and my shoulder hurts too much for me to undo it on my own, so...” Of fucking course she wouldn’t want to climb into bed in a dress covered with mud and blood, he was thick. He shook his head slightly in an attempt to regain his composure.

“Right, should I call Polly?” She flushed even deeper, if that were possible. 

“Well - could you just do it? You’re already here. You could just turn ‘round?” He could hear the uncertainty in her voice, the unspoken question of whether or not she was crossing a line. He nodded.

“Come here.” She obediently turned her back to him to allow him to undo her dress. He watched the shift of muscle under smooth skin and had to resist the urge to trail his fingers down the slope of her shoulder. He turned around for a moment and heard her rustle through her wardrobe. 

“Okay, you can turn.” Still flushing deeply, she’d wrapped a dressing gown around herself. He pulled back the quilt for her and sat at the end of her bed, itching to wrap his hands around Erasmus Lee’s throat watching her wincing as she gingerly slid in. But he couldn’t, and it was his own fucking fault. He’d picked this fight with the Lees and Evie got hurt. Finn was uninjured but had almost been killed, they both had, all for his fucking ambition.

“I’m going to end this war, I promise.” He swore softly. The trust in the smile she offered him made him ache. He did not deserve it.

“It’s far too early to sleep, could you read?” He stood to pick a book from one of the teetering piles by the window.

“A new one, or your favorite?”

“Surprise me.” He trails his fingers over the cracked and worn spines - there was little she loved in the world as much as her books - and picked one at random.

“Pride and Prejudice?” He pulled it from the stack as she beamed. 

“One of my favorites, have I read it to you yet?” 

“No, but if you love it so much I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.” He sat up in her bed beside her as she settled, looking up at him with wide, expectant eyes. He cleared his throat dramatically and opened the book with a flourish, feeling ridiculously pleased when it made her laugh.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife…”


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re not supposed to look sad a’ weddings.” Evie looked up from the wild blur of lively dancing to see Tommy leaning against the wagon next to her. She laughed shakily and blinked back a few unshed tears.

“It’s a beautiful night.” She offered. 

“Hm, that it is. But you’re still sad.” 

“Maybe a bit.” She admitted, “makes me think of my mother.” She looked up at him and smiled. “But it’s John’s wedding night, distract me please.” He held out a hand.

“Care to dance?” She blinked and looked him up and down.

“Are you drunk?” She asked, eyeing his undone collar and rumpled hair.

“Quite.”

“You don’t like to dance.”

“No, but you do.”

“It’s alright, Tommy, we don’t -”

“Fuckin' Christ Evelyn, just dance with me eh?” She couldn’t stop the pleased smile from creeping up her face. She slipped her hand into his, rough and calloused but warm, and allowed him to lead her into the throng of dancers. 

Even drunk, Tommy was a surprisingly competent dancer. Evie was decidedly less competent, but he held her flush to his body and whirled her around the clearing until her vision was spinning and she was breathless. The music was joyful and vibrant and the drums seemed to echo the fast beat of her heart against her ribs. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Polly twirling gracefully with a hopeful-looking Lee man. On her other side, Arthur was doing his best to keep up with one of Esme’s cousins.

The music changed suddenly and they came to an abrupt stop, accidentally crashing into John and knocking him flat on his arse. They ran away from his angry shouting, her ribs quaking with laughter, back to the wagon to catch their breaths. 

“Are you sure you don’t like to dance? Evie teased. He grinned down at her.

“It’s alright when I’m drunk. Keeps me from feelin’ you steppin’ on my toes.” She smacked his arm in mock outrage.

“I did _ not _!” He caught her swinging hand and clasped it to his chest, smiling. It was a real smile, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes in the way she’d always loved, and for a moment he was the man he used to be, open and laughing and warm. He seemed at ease, loose-limbed and unguarded. His hair, normally neat and tidy, was falling into his eyes and she fought the urge to run her fingers through it.

“Now there’s a Tommy Shelby I haven’t seen since before the war.” It was meant in jest but her voice came out a breathless whisper. As he reached out to tuck a stray curl back behind her ear it felt like she was shining under his touch, the meandering path of his fingers leaving a glowing trail. The light thrown by the lanterns softened his face and he was close enough that she could see the thick fringe of lashes that Polly had always said were wasted on him and the light dappling of freckles across his cheeks. He was looking at her with an intense scrutiny that left her feeling almost shy.

“Something I can help you with, Mr. Shelby?” 

“I’m just makin’ sure I don’t ever forget what you look like right now.” Her heart quickened in her chest.

“And just what do I look like?” He cocked his head as his eyes swept up and down her body, heavy and languid like a cat’s paw brushing over her skin.

“Like you couldn’t fuckin’ be real.”

He shifted closer until she was pressed against the side of the wagon. She could nearly taste the hunger on his lips as it coated her own, dark and sweet, and as he stared down at her Evie had to distantly remind herself to breathe. Slowly, painfully slowly, he leaned down and brushed his lips to hers. 

His mouth was startling soft, his full lower lip an odd contrast with the hard lines and planes of the rest of his body. She felt his hands grasp her waist before sliding up to wind through her hair. She parted her lips for his tongue and splayed her hands over the dip of his lower back to pull him closer, her body moving of its own accord. 

Some distant part of her thought that maybe she should break away, that no matter how much they’d danced around each other they could never take this final leap. She thought she should break away, but then Tommy slid one of his hands down to curl around the back of her neck as he lightly bit her bottom lip and her mind went blissfully blank.

All of a sudden his muscles went rigid and as quickly as it started, he stopped and nearly sprang back off of her. She blinked up at him, dazed, to see that the man she’d just been kissing was gone. He’d been replaced by an entirely different man, one cold and hard and distant enough to have been carved from marble. 

“The whiskey must’ve gotten the best of me,” he said roughly, “my apologies, Evelyn.” He didn’t give her a chance to respond, just turned and vanished into the crowd. 

Evie started to run after him but then Ada went screaming into labor and Evie was whisked along to help. The birth was long and bloody and grueling; Evie held Ada’s hand as she pushed and strained, pretending that it didn’t matter that it wasn’t Freddie there in her place. There were several moments amidst the bleeding and the crying when Ada’s body when limp against the pillows, and Evie thought that Ada must be about to die, the human body could only take so much, but with one final, shrieking push it was over. Karl came into the world squalling and red, waving his tiny fists. 

“He’s a Shelby alright.” Evie cooed as she wrapped him while Ada rested against the pillows, exhausted but brimming with love. 

She left them and Polly in the small hours of the morning. She felt a pang in her chest seeing Ada and the baby curl up together in the bed, and wandered home feeling unmoored and like she was drifting through the world without leaving a trace, without anyone to call her own. Ada had Freddie but she and Karl belonged to each other, tethered by blood and something else, something deep and old and powerful. Evie didn’t belong to anyone.

When she reached the house Evie briefly considered knocking on Tommy’s door, but the thought of possibly being left feeling more alone than she already did drove her to her own bed instead. 

She woke with the sun, full of nervous energy and rushing through her routine of getting ready. She waited in the kitchen for Tommy to come and make her coffee and tell her that everything would be fine. She wanted him to take one look at her nearly bursting out of her skin and tell her to get a fucking hold of herself. She waited, tensing at every creak and groan of the old wood of the house. He didn’t come. Arthur and Polly and Finn all came down to kiss her good morning and eat their breakfast and start their days but Tommy stayed away. 

In the days that followed Evie only saw him in brief, hurried flashes. The mornings she used to love so much became a quiet dread, and his absence felt less a rejection of her affections than a rejection of her. She told herself things would settle, that he would come and sit on her bed and let her read to him as they always had.

Her determination to let the dust settle faltered on the eighth night, after another day of his eyes sliding over her as if the space she occupied was empty. She’d gone fuming up to bed after he’d spoken over her in a family meeting, cutting smoothly through her sentence as if he couldn’t hear her at all. Bastard. She tossed and turned for what felt like hours, unable to calm her mind enough to sleep. All she could think of were his hands wound through her hair, the full swell of his lower lip. Fucking Shelby. Finally, well past midnight, she made up her mind.

When she cracked open Tommy’s door he was reclining and smoking a cigarette in bed, smoke spiraling through the slice of moonlight cutting across the room. For the first time in over a week, he truly looked at her. He didn’t ask why she was there, he didn’t need to. It was silent for a moment as she closed the door behind her. 

“You did this.” She whispered. “You can’t make me feel like this and then leave me reelin'. You don’t get to act like this, not to me.” His face was expressionless, the face he gave to men who disobeyed him or men who encroached on his territory. She could see him now as they did, hard eyes in a hard face, none of the intelligence and quiet warmth she knew. Handsome, but cold. Untouchable.

“And how exactly am I actin'?” 

“Like you can’t stand to look at me. Like you’ve made a shameful mistake.” He sighed and hung his head for a moment before looking her in the eye.

“How could it be anythin' but a mistake?” 

******

Tommy had to steel himself before he delivered the final blow. It was cold, and it was cruel, but it was necessary. He gritted his teeth as her small face crumpled for a moment, forcing himself to look at the way he was hurting her. Damn that face of hers. It was horrible to be able to pick out every single emotion that ran over it- shock, humiliation, bewilderment, hatred, all perfectly and clearly conveyed. Hatred was the most important, it would keep her safe, and he could stomach that look every day for the rest of his life as long as she was alive. 

“Right.” She whispered. Tommy could hear the tremor in her voice. “Right,” she repeated, “silly of me to think otherwise.” She was looking at him like she’d never seen him before, as if just now she was getting a taste for who he truly was. She’d be safer for it. 

She turned to leave but stopped on the threshold, one hand on the doorframe. She turned back slightly to look at him and he could see the silvery sheen of unshed tears.

“You should’ve just left me alone.” And then she was gone.

Avoiding her grated against every instinct, but his words did what they were meant to do and she stopped trying to stitch together the gulf he’d rent between them. She slipped quietly out of the room if he walked in and worked with Polly and Esme in the shop instead of in the back office. He’d become too comfortable, allowed himself too many slips. His selfishness had hurt her and now he had to hurt her more. 

A small, horrible part of him whispered that maybe it had been worth it, to taste her just the once. And that small part of him relished in the memory of her surprised gasp, her lips parting silk-soft against his. He’d taken what he wanted for himself just once, and now he had it forever, the feeling of her skin under his fingertips. It had to have been worth it.

But then one night he saw her smiling up at a factory worker as he told her a story over a pint. No, it hadn’t been worth it. Maybe she went home with him, maybe she didn’t. Tommy made it a point not to know. But why shouldn’t she have everything he couldn’t give her? A beautiful life with beautiful children and a husband whose hands weren’t soaked in blood. 

He couldn’t sleep anymore, tossing and turning his way through an endless string of nights when the call of the picks was too strong, when his head swam with dying men’s groans and the walls were pressing in on him from all sides. His head was so full of noise he nearly gave in to the opium, shame and guilt warring with deprived desperation. He had gotten a hold of new pipe and it sat tucked away in a drawer. He couldn’t see it but he hear it whispering to him. 

He kept his promise, letting the pipe sit and gather dust, but sleep eluded him. He longed for her calm voice and the bedding warm from her body, and knew that if he went to her his head full of ghosts she would open her arms. Not quite forgiveness but a truce, the circles under his eyes the waving white flag. It would be easy to stretch out next to her and steal those small moments for himself, but morning would come. He would have to push her away and swallow the disappointment that would be painted across her face all over again. He couldn’t be selfish anymore. 

So he stayed away, lay stiffly in his bed glaring up into the darkness. 

Tommy saw the man again, several weeks later during the evening rush. He tried to look away, _ tried _ to be the man Evelyn thought he was, but something ugly and dark simmered in his chest and drove him across the room, ignoring Arthur’s irritated calls after him. He strolled over to where he sat at the bar and he saw the man stiffen at his approach, spine going rigid and knuckles whitening around his glass. _ Good _. Tommy leaned against the wood of the bar and made a show of taking out a cigarette and lighting it. He took several slow, indulgent drags before speaking, not looking at the man nearly trembling next to him.

“If you so much as look at Evelyn Murphy again, I’ll break every bone in your body.” His tone was even, almost pleasant, but the man went a funny ashen color before stammering out that he would stay away.

“Good man.” Tommy patted his shoulder bracingly and turned back to where Arthur was seated in the snug. The man stood from his seat, nearly knocking it over in his haste, making sure to avoid eye contact with Tommy as he skittered out of the crowded pub. Weaving his way across the room, Tommy felt the back of his neck prickle and turned to find Evie and Polly glaring at him from their seat by the wall. His smug sense of satisfaction died at Pol’s disappointment, and for a moment guilt bloomed hot and prickly in his throat. He could feel Evie staring at him but couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He tipped his hat in their direction and turned back to Arthur.

But then Evie came home alone that night and Tommy couldn’t find it in himself to feel any more guilt, because he wasn’t the man she thought he was.


	6. Chapter 6

Evie couldn’t stand being in the house anymore, not when all of the nooks and crannies and shadowy corners were full of Tommy. The mornings that had been so dear to her were cold and empty, and her nights were spent longing for a hand to hold through the darkness.

She started to spend all of her free time with Ada and Karl. She would mind the baby to give Ada some much-needed time to take a bath or cook a meal. The comforting weight of the Karl snuggling into her lap was a welcome distraction. She could hold the boy close and whisper to him all of the things she couldn’t tell anyone else. Her hopes and dreams, her fears, her feelings. Karl just stared back at her solemnly, eyes alert with the wisdom that only babies had. 

Ada always welcomed her with open arms, understanding more than anyone the need to escape the near-suffocating anger of Thomas Shelby. She was happy to offer refuge whenever Evie needed, but one evening Ada and Karl started to feel ill and Polly quarantined the both of them. She banned Evie from seeing them until their fevers broke, so when Arthur thumped down the stairs later that night to make his evening trek to the Garrison, she leapt up to join him. 

Arthur tossed Evie her coat and shouted up the stairs at John that he was to join them when he and Esme were done and decent. Evie fell in step behind him as shouted profanities followed them to the door. 

“You’re drainin' those glasses faster than usual,” Evie observed once they were seated in the snug, “d’you want to talk about it?” Arthur shrugged.

“It’s just always the bloody same with him, my dad.” She watched him carefully

“I’m sorry he did that to you. A father is supposed to be someone you can trust.”

“I did trust him, that’s the problem. I couldn’t see him for what he was. Right idiot I am.”

“You wanted him to be better.” She slipped her hand into his. “He knew that and took advantage of it. That doesn’t make you an idiot.” Arthur snorted.

“Tommy disagrees, he had some _ choice _ words for me.” She winced, she knew as well as the rest of them how cutting Tommy’s _ choice words _ could be. She squeezed his hand sympathetically.

“It’s because he loves us so much,” she said softly, “so much he doesn’t always know what to do with it. It’s a fearful, feverish love, and sometimes it can make him cruel.” He didn’t respond, just kept turning the glass round and round in his hand. “You’re not a stupid man, Arthur, that’s why Tommy trusts you with the Garrison. He just didn’t want your father to let you down. Again.”

“My mind doesn’t work like Tommy’s” he said gruffly, voicing what Evie knew to be a deep-seated shame. She patted his arm. 

“No one’s mind works like Tommy’s, that’s why we let him do all the heavy liftin'.”

He just grumbled to himself but slid an arm around her shoulders to give her a squeeze and she happily nestled closer into the hug. Arthur was brash and loud and often impulsive but underneath all of the bluster he had a soft heart, especially when it came to her, she knew. 

They sat there in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to Grace sing to the pub-goers, before Arthur broached the one topic she’d hoped to avoid.

“Now, what’s the matter with you and Tom?” 

  


****

Arthur felt her stiffen and ease out of his embrace. She leaned back, looking him up and down warily for a moment before answering.

“What d’you mean?” Smart as she was, Evie had never had any talent for lying, and she faltered as he stared her down.

“It’s not like we didn’t all _ see you _ a’ the wedding.” Arthur watched her delicate face wince as she looked down at her drink.

“I-” she was saved from answering as John walked through the doors of the snug, bending down to give her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek before shrugging his coat off. His cheerful smile died as he sensed the tension that lay thick and heavy in the air between the two of them.

“I’m askin’ her about Tommy.” Arthur answered his unspoken question.

“Ah. Good. I’m sick o’ you two circlin’ ‘round each other and not talkin’. Just what the fuck happened?” Evie threw up her hands in exasperation. 

“So _ everybody _ saw us?” They snorted.

“Hard to miss, the two o’ you up against the side of Johnny Dog’s wagon. We were hopin’ that it would finally be it,” John sighed, “but apparently not.” Evie blinked slowly at him.

“What d’you mean by ‘finally be it’?” Both Arthur and John’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Erm...well we just all assumed that one o’ these days you’d get together…”Arthur said slowly, scratching the back of his head uncomfortably. “He was always sweet on ya, even as a kid.” Shaking her head in disbelief, Evie drained her scotch and set the tumbler down hard. John and Arthur winced at the thud of glass against wood.

“Tommy is _ not _ sweet on me,” she said stiffly. “He made it perfectly clear,” she fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve, unable to look either of them in the eye, “that he doesn’t want me.” A beat passed and the other two frowned.

“Bullshit.”

She shrugged. “It’s what he said.” John shook his head, snorting.

“D’you remember when we caught her kissin’ Robbie Hughes in Charlie’s yard, Arthur?”

“Thought Tommy was gonna blow ‘is lid, nearly throttled the poor bastard.” Arthur chuckled. 

“Perhaps, but that was a long time ago. He doesn’t want me in his life anymore.” Her clipped tone booked no room for argument. Arthur met his brother’s eyes over the table and raised his eyebrows, but they said nothing, and after a beat of silence John awkwardly changed the subject.

Arthur watched her stare absentmindedly through the doors of the snug and out over the busy bar as they talked, dark brows furrowed slightly above her eyes. Great big golden eyes, like sunlight streaming through a glass of whiskey or a leopard staring down from a shaded tree branch. Eyes that saw so much but couldn’t hide a single thought that crossed her mind. Arthur could see her doubt and hurt, her anger and resentment, all there for the taking.

*****

“Might I walk you home, lass?” She turned toward the rolling Scottish burr to see a man smiling down at her. Tall and broad, he towered over her but his face was kind. Evie was struck by how handsome he was, and for a moment she could see the life she could’ve had if things had been different; A simple life with a husband who was good and sweet to her, who would give her beautiful children and hold her in the early hours of the morning, who never made her feel unwanted. It would be easy to love him. She smiled back but before she could open her mouth, a flint-sharp voice cut through the space between them.

“No need, I’ll be walkin’ her home tonight.” The man’s eyes widened at the appearance of Thomas Shelby, and before Evie could say a word he’d melted into the evening crowd. She whirled around to glare at him but he was already turning toward the exit.

“Shall we? Or d’you want to chat with Arthur and John a little longer?” His voice was stiff and frosty. Her cheeks burned with humiliation and she shouldered past him to the door without saying a word.

As they headed home in tense silence, Evie heard him fall into place several paces behind her. Indignation and embarrassment welled up in her throat with every step, and when they were a few yards from the house she stopped short. 

“You can’t have it both ways, Thomas. You can’t be chasin' away any man who might talk to me but then act like bein' with me yourself is shameful.” She turned back to look at him, forcing him to meet her eyes. His expression was as calm as always but his body was rigid, as if every muscle was tightly coiled and waiting to spring. She thought she saw _ something _ in his face. Something, but she didn’t want to waste her time trying to find out what. She’d probably imagined it anyway.

“_ Some men _ wouldn’t find it embarrassin' to be with me.” Throat thick with tears, she turned on her heel and stalked away before he could answer.

As she passed Polly in the kitchen, the tears finally streaking down her cheeks, Evie waved away her concern with a weak smile and fled up to her room with bothering to see if Tommy had followed her inside.

She kicked off her shoes and impatiently stripped off her dress. Once in her dressing gown she paced back and forth, too strung up to sleep. Had it been another night she would creep down the hall to curl up in Tommy’s bed, but that was no longer an option. She tried reading, but no poem or story seemed to quiet the heaviness churning deep in her belly. 

Eventually she just lay by the window, counting the smokestacks rising above the twists and turns of the city. Angry tears welled up once again and slipped, hot and salty, down her cheeks. She wasn’t sure how much time passed, it could’ve been hours or mere minutes, before she heard her door crack open. She didn’t need to look up to know it was Tommy padding across her floor. It wasn’t until the end of her bed dipped and groaned that she sat up to look at him.

He reached out to one of the teardrops glistening on her cheek, letting it twist and curl around his finger like a bead of mercury and looking at it like he’d never seen a tear before. But still he said nothing.

*****

There was nothing worse than Evie crying. She always tried to cry silently, and even as a child Tommy had wanted to tell her that she should scream and wail and curse at the sky, because their lives were unforgiving and they deserved to have their misery heard. He watched her angrily wipe the tears from her face with the back of her hand.

“I’m not a thing, you can’t pick me up and set me down whenever you feel like. It was bad enough being cast off like that, but losin' you altogether? It’s like losin' a limb, Thomas. I don’t feel right in my own body without you. You’re too big a part of me, you understand?” He understood.

“Is it really me?” Her voice was soft “is there somethin’ wrong with me?” He could hear the hurt trembling in her voice and his hands ached to take her in his arms, to hold her tight and make her understand.

“No.” He winced as his voice came out harsher than he intended. He took a steadying breath and tried again. “D’you remember when we were sixteen and you found that owl with the wounded wing? We all told you to let it die, even Pol’, but you kept it warm and fed and safe. You set its wing and eventually it flapped off into the fuckin’ night, alive and well because you were kind. That was the moment I knew I couldn’t have you.”

She stared at him for a few moments.

“That’s the biggest load of shit I’ve ever heard, Thomas.”

“Evelyn -.”

“No. Are you so determined to be unhappy?”

“It’s not about my happiness.” He said impatiently. “My happiness doesn’t matter, your safety does.”

“What about _ my _ happiness?” She snapped. “Did you not think about that?” He went quiet for a moment. 

“It’s all I think about.” She opened her mouth but he continued.

“You know the man I am, Evelyn, the life I lead. It’s not safe for you to be involved with me.” Silence hung like a curtain between them and she went long enough without speaking that Tommy was unsure if she’d heard. He was reaching for her shoulder when her voice, low and angry, cut him to the quick. 

“_ Involved _?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is short but I wanted to get something up for you guys! I'm working on the next few now :)  
Also, I really can't write sex scenes I tried my best lol.

_ “INVOLVED?” _ she nearly shouted, dropping her voice to a low hiss when she remembered the hour. “I’ve lived with this family for over _ ten bloody years _ I’m already _ involved _. “

“People could use you to get to me.” he continued calmly, unfazed by her anger. She scoffed.

“They already have, Tommy, what difference would it make now?” He didn’t respond, mouth curving bitterly downward as he clearly remembered Campbell’s peculiar brand of _ justice _. “I’m part of this family, and I always will be. I’ll be involved with or without you.” He went quiet for a moment, lips slightly parted as if he were turning the words around in his mouth, feeling the full weight of them.

“We both know I came back different, Evie. My head is full o’ ghosts and you deserve a whole man who can still hold kindness in his heart. I’m a hard man to love.” There was an edge to his voice, daring her to correct him. And there it was, underneath the concern for her safety and skewed notions of honor, his deepest fear unearthed. The fear that he was a broken man, permanently scarred and not worth loving.

“No,” she breathed softly, taking his face gently in her hands, “Not to me. Never to me.”

Slowly, as if not to scare him, she shifted closer on the bed. Heart quickening in her chest, she leaned forward to press her lips gently to his, the barest brush of skin. He stiffened, and for a moment Evie thought she’d gone too far but then a gutteral noise rose from the back of his throat and he wound a hand through her hair to pull her closer. 

The rush of sensations was overwhelming and her mind scrambled to process the tug of her scalp from the hair twisted through his fingers, the gentle pressure of his lips moving in tandem with hers, the soft fabric of his shirt fisted in her hands.

His hands fell to her waist and he tugged her roughly into his lap, fingers splaying out over her back. She couldn’t help but let out a small gasp against his mouth at the rush of contact and the heat of his skin seeping through their clothes where they were pressed together. He trailed his lips down over her neck, pausing to nip and suck and kiss before ghosting over the curve of her collarbone. She was distantly aware of her ragged breathing, but as his lips slipped lower decided she didn’t entirely care. She bucked her hips ever so slightly against the hard length of him that was pressed up against her and heard the hitch in his breath. Rucking up her nightgown around her hips, he pulled back to watch her as he trailed his fingers up her thigh. 

“Please.” she heard herself whisper. A lazy smile curved over his face as he lightly traced her entrance.

“What d’you need? I want you to tell me.” 

“More. I need more.” 

He slowly, agonizingly slowly, slipped a finger inside.

“More. I-” A second finger joined the first and found a rhythm.

“Is this what you need?” 

“_ Yes. _” she breathed. They stayed like that a while, her uneven breaths loud in her own ears. Delicious pressure was building in her belly and when Tommy pushed the neck of her nightgown aside to take a nipple in his mouth, his free hand curling around the back of her neck, she had to bite her lip to hold back a cry. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, moving her hips in rhythm with him. It was almost too much, too strong, but she was too close for anything to slow the rush of building pleasure. As she danced closer and closer to the edge she brought her hands up to fist in his hair, tumbling over it with a final muffled cry spilling from her lips. 

She blinked way the dots swirling in her vision to see Tommy staring at her like he was drinking her in, his eyes sharp and dark.

“Fuckin’ perfect.” He whispered, his own voice a little ragged.

He gently turned her over so she was lying in her bed and rose to walk towards the door. 

“If you walk out that door Thomas Michael Shelby I swear I’ll wring your fuckin’ neck. He turned to look at her, bemused, as he fiddled with the doorknob.

“Serious threat for someone as little as you.” His mouth quirked upwards with sudden mirth. “Just makin’ sure we’re not bothered.” He came back to sink into the mattress beside her. Every little creak of floorboard and squeak of mattress spring seemed unusually loud in the night air around them. Evie’s blood was a roar of thunder in her ears as she watched him with nervous anticipation.

He helped her shimmy out of her nightgown before pressing her firmly down and knelt between her legs, watching her as he bent down on his elbows, eyes glinting. He pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her knee, taking his time to dip his lips lower and lower until Evie was nearly panting in anticipation. A sharp sting made her stifle a surprised curse as he left a mark, wet and angry, on the inside of her thigh. 

Second afterglow fading from her vision, Evie blinked blearily up at the ceiling as Tommy shed his own clothes impatiently. It was both startlingly new and achingly familiar when he eventually sank into her with a muffled curse. His mouth was hot on her skin as his hips rolled against her, exquisitely slow and then desperately fast. It seemed to go on forever, the endless warmth of skin moving against skin. They could’ve been the only two people in the world, soaked in moonlight and lost in the taste of each other. It felt like days, years, eons, had passed when Tommy drew back with a groan and spilled hot and wet over her belly. As she lay in a haze of pleasure and exhaustion, she was distantly aware of Tommy rising up and returning with a damp rag. Once both clean, he collapsed next to her on the bed with a heavy exhale. 

Evie turned toward him and mirrored in his face she could see their shared uncertainty. _ Was this alright? Are you alright? Who are we now? _ She broke the stillness that had settled over them like a thick quilt by reaching out, desperate to feel him once again. She shifted towards him over the tangle of sheets and gently pressed her lips to his in silent question. She felt a shudder run through him, sighing with his entire body, as he ran a hand lightly up her waist. They lay like that a while, tenderness replacing passion as they kissed lazily. There was no urgency as they took time to learn each other, reveling in this newfound intimacy. Eventually kissing turned into Tommy smoking and reclining against her pillows as she stretched out on her stomach beside him, feeling warm and sated and wonderfully sore. She watched as the smoke spilled out of his parted lips to wind into the night air. 

She’d seen his body a thousand times, bandaged and stitched and cleaned it more times than she could count. She knew it like the back of her hand but she’d never seen it in this way, spread out for her to look all she liked, one whole body instead of ragged and broken bits of a man that’d needed mending. She knew every scar, every bump, every tattoo, but she’d never noticed the lean muscle shifting under his skin or the elegant lines of his bones, a symphony of sharp angles and lithe grace.

He caught her staring and a quick smirk flitted over his face. 

“Somethin' I can help you with, Miss?” His tone was playful but the sharp planes of his face were softened, tenderness that never saw the light peeking through like sunlight through a filmy window pane.

She reached over to pluck the cigarette from his fingers, not breaking eye contact as her lips closed around it. As she smoked, he snaked an arm over her shoulders to the pile of books by her bed, choosing one at random. She handed him back the cigarette and nestled into bed as the rough and low timbre of his voice filled quiet room.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, this is the last actual chapter but I'm working on an epilogue right now! I might go back and tweak some things here but I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think :)

It still haunted his dreams, the way Evie had stood in the street next to Ada and Karl, glaring at both their men and Kimber’s men alike. Tommy’s blood had never run so cold as it did in that moment, the short span of just a few heartbeats as he watched her stare down the gleaming barrels of the men’s pistols, every nerve in his body screaming out to her. They’d stared right back, knock-kneed and flustered as schoolboys under the weight of her anger. It was only when Kimber’s men turned tail and ran that Tommy found his voice again.

“I’m gettin’ you out of Small Heath as soon as fuckin’ possible.” He’d said once Kimber was lying broken and lifeless on the street between them, tone flat and final before turning his back and stalking away. They shrank from him for weeks, slipping away quietly as he paced the shop and skulked in the corridors of the house. Guilt welled up in his throat every time he snapped at Finn or barked at Evie and Polly but he couldn’t help it, the fear gripped him like a vice. He’d been cold, he knew, but the thought of her thin skin and delicate bones in the path of a screaming bullet took root in his mind. Every time he looked at Evie he saw her standing there, shielding him with her body as if his wretched life could possibly be worth more than hers.

It wasn’t until the deeds had been signed and the properties finalised that Tommy allowed himself to breathe. He filed the paperwork away in the office before closing the shop for the night to slip quietly up the stairs to Evie’s room. The room was dark as he eased the door open save a sluice of moonlight shining through a crack in the curtains. It was dark, but he could feel the angry tension seeping into the air around them. She propped herself up on an elbow, dark hair spilling over her bare skin where her nightgown shifted, and although her face was shadowed Tommy could still feel her glare. 

“Are you finally through wallowin' in self-pity?” Tommy winced at the hard edge in her voice.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I shouldn’t have acted the way I did, I was scared.” He moved toward the bed. “I was so scared, Evelyn, more scared than I ever thought I could be after France.” She was watching him warily, and he allowed her to weigh his apology and his fear and his regret for a few moments, heart in his throat, before the hard set of her mouth softened and she held out a hand. Relief flooded his body and Tommy carefully eased out of his shoes and coat to stretch out in her bed, pillowing his head on her stomach. 

She sighed and brought a hand up to card through his hair. The hard knot he’d been carrying in his stomach for days loosened as he felt the tension in her muscles ebb.

“You can’t keep doin' that,” she whispered, “you can’t shut us all out just because you’re scared. You can’t yell and sulk and stew in your anger, we don’t deserve that.”

“I know.” She let his words hang in the air for a moment.

“Finn is frightened of you when you’re like that. The rest of us know better, but he’s too young.” 

“I know.” Tommy sighed. “I’ll bring him ridin' tomorrow and have a talk with him.” He lifted his head to look at her, moonlight streaking silver over her hair. 

“Are _ you _ frightened of me?” That coaxed a smile out of her. 

“Never.”

*****

Tommy announced the property investments of Shelby Company Ltd. over supper, handing out keys to Polly and Arthur and John. Evie looked at him expectantly, but there was no key for her.

“There’ll be an extra room for you a’ Pol’s.” He said when she cleared her throat pointedly.

“No room at yours?” She asked quickly, flushing when she caught Arthur making a face out of the corner of his eye. 

Tommy raised an eyebrow.

“Why would there be a room at mine?”

“No reason” she said flatly, “my mistake.” She looked down at her plate and ignored the way John and Arthur were shifting uncomfortably, glaring down at a stray piece of potato as if it was the one causing offense. Esme winced sympathetically at her when their eyes met. _ Men _ , _ all thick-headed _, her shrug seemed to say.

Quiet the rest of the meal, Evie excused herself to her room as soon as they finished their drinks. When she reached her threshold she stopped short. Her books were gone, wardrobe emptied, and her bed was almost completely stripped save a folded quilt at the foot. She sighed as she heard Tommy’s light footsteps come up behind her, turning toward him with an eyebrow raised.

“Problem?” He asked innocently, “I already had your things moved into _ our _ room a’ the new house”. Evie grumbled to herself as he gave her a perfect, cherubic smile and pressed a quick kiss to the crown of her head.

“Wicked man,” she muttered after breaking away. He hummed.

“The wickedest.” he agreed. 

The house was beautiful, full of plush carpets and shiny dark wood with high ceilings that made Evie feel like she was out of place in a home so fine. She drifted from room to room, running her hands over the wood so polished it felt like silk under her fingertips. Each room was a jumble of crates and boxes and half-unpacked bags, all the same until she found a door tucked in the corner of the sitting room. She poked her head in half-heartedly, expecting a back stairway for maids or even another sitting room, but froze at the sight of walls blanketed in floor to ceiling bookshelves. 

She crept in slowly, twisting and turning her head to take in the rows of mahogany shelves stretching to the vaulted ceilings above her. The spine of each book looked uncracked and pristine, begging to be opened. She had to stop for a moment, hand pressed to her mouth, because while every other room was in a state of chaos the library had clearly been finished ahead of time with careful attention paid to every detail. There looked to be several shelves full of what looked suspiciously like first editions, a small fortune tucked quietly into the back of their sprawling house.

Overwhelmed, Evie didn’t know where to start. She walked the length of the shelves, trailing her fingers hesitantly across spines that seemed too expensive and fine for her to touch, forgetting about the unpacking and cleaning she was meant to be doing. Rows and rows of books, curated and carefully arranged just for her. _ Fucking Shelby _.

The sun had dipped low by the time Tommy popped his head through the door, relief plain on his face as he found her sitting surrounded by piles of books, reorganizing the shelves by genre and author. 

“I was worried,” he said, eyeing the teetering stacks of books waiting to be re-shelved, “should’ve known I‘d find you here. D’you like it?” 

“I love it,” Evie said earnestly. His expression didn’t change, but something warm and soft and hazy flickered behind his eyes. She reached a hand up and he crossed the room to pull her to her feet. She rolled neck and shoulders, sighing contentedly. 

“It’s a beautiful house, Tommy.”

“Big and beautiful and ours.” He agreed, sinking into the settee by the window. 

“Feels strange to leave Watery Lane after so many years,” she said softly. “Will you miss it?” 

“Not a fuckin’ chance in hell.” Tommy said evenly, lips curving up in a small smile. When she didn’t smile back something in his face shifted. “You feel differently?”

She looked out the window for a moment, watching a gardener - a _ fucking gardener _\- knocking around in the garden. The late afternoon sun was casting a lazy golden glow over the flowerbeds. It was worlds away from the grey and smoky skyline she used to watch from her bedroom in Small Heath. 

“I’ll be leavin' my mother behind.” She glanced back at him, he was watching her carefully, eyes sharp and keen. 

“Every year her face fades a little more,” she whispered. “It’s blurred around the edges like an old photograph and I can barely remember her voice. She’s slippin' from me, and who will I be when she’s gone?” She felt Tommy come up behind her, resting his hands on her arms bracingly, silently encouraging her to continue. 

“I went back to the house once, maybe a week or so after she died, and everythin' was gone. Fuckin’ looted, probably. Her clothes, her jewelry, family heirlooms. Gone. Nothing to remember her by, nothing to remind me who I am. Livin' by the house was the last string tetherin' us together.” Silence fell between them for a heartbeat, and she let the feeling of his hands gripping her arms ground her.

“Your connection to her goes beyond houses and clothes and things. She’s in your blood.” His voice was low and comforting, and she could feel the warm hum of his voice as she leaned back against his chest. 

“I know.” She sighed. “I just wish sometimes I had something to make her feel more real to me.” Shaking herself slightly, she slipped out of his embrace. “It’s alright, there are better things to do with my time than worry about a few old pieces of jewelry.” She gave him a smile she knew neither of them believed and turned back to the books she had been sorting through.

Their conversation slipped from her mind as she busied herself with unpacking and arranging furniture and directing the team of maids Tommy had hired. Evie wasn’t sure why they needed so many bloody maids prowling around the house. They watched her like hawks, beady-eyed and stiff, silently letting her know with every curled lip and flared nostril that she was unfit to run a respectable household. She did her best to settle them into the house without their help, politely ignoring their pointed suggestions for furniture placement and sleeping arrangements. Evie was one more disapproving comment about an unmarried couple sleeping in the same room away from tossing them out by the ties of their prim little aprons.

She was determinedly attempting to move a rather obstinate cabinet by herself when Tommy came back from the office early one evening.

“Christ, Evelyn, that thing would crush you flat if it tipped over.” He crossed the room in three long strides to help her carefully shift it into place. He looked down at her, irritation and exasperation mingling on his face,

“In the future, _ please _ let me and Arthur and John do the heavy liftin', I _ know _ you’re capable,” he continued over her indignant squawk, “but I would feel better knowin' for certain I won’t ever come home to find you flattened under a bookshelf.” He pressed a kiss to her temple to soften his words before drawing back.

“Now, d’you want to argue with me or d’you want to see what arrived for you today?” She narrowed her eyes at him, mulling it over for a few moments before curiosity overcame indignation. Slipping her hand into his, Evie trailed behind him up to their bedroom.

There was a heavy wooden trunk sitting in the middle of the floor.

“For me?” Tommy nodded.

“Have a look.” Glancing at him curiously, she bent and fiddled with the latch for a moment before heaving the lid open, the old metal squeaking and groaning in protest. It was filled with smaller boxes and carefully wrapped packages.

“I had a chat with one o' the policemen on our payroll.” Tommy said quietly, “Some of your mother’s things _ were _ looted,” her head snapped up to stare disbelievingly at him, “but most of it ended up in their lockup. Didn’t take much for them to release it to me.”

With shaking hands she reached down to pull out a small box carved lovingly with snaking vines and tiny leaves.

“My father made this,” she whispered, tracing the curves of the wood with her fingertips “for my mother’s birthday when I was six. It was right before the accident.” She opened it to reveal a heap of silver jewelry and brightly colored beads. Evie dipped a finger into the pile and swirled it around, listening to the clink of metal and glass. She set the box down slowly, swiveling to look at him over her shoulder. The words were all stuck in the back of her throat, fighting to get out as wetness started to pool in her eyes. Tommy came to crouch beside her, wiping a tear from her cheek with a brush of his fingers.

“Good?” he asked.

“Good.” she whispered.

They lay in their bed, curved towards each other, working their way through a box of letters full of spidery handwriting and dog-eared corners. They took turns reading aloud until the sun had dipped below the line of rooftops and chimneys and her mother’s scrawl became impossible to read. 

“I can’t believe you did this,” she said softly, carefully boxing up her mother’s words and memories before curling up against him again. 

“You can’t believe I would do nice things for the people I love?” He asked dryly. She sat straight up to stare at him in disbelief.

“D’you mean to say that you did this because you love me?” She demanded. He blinked.

“Is that not what I just said?” 

“You love me.” She repeated softly to herself, curling toward him slightly.

“I love you.” He agreed, reaching out a hand to trace the curve of her cheek with the back of his knuckles.

“Say it again.” She ordered as she rolled over onto her hands and knees, the hem of her dress riding up her thighs.

“I love you.” She started crawling to him. His eyes were dark as they traced the slope of her shoulder where the strap of her dress had fallen.

“Again.”

“I love you.” She straddled his lap as his hands came up to grip her hips, fingers flexing against the soft silk.

“Again.” She whispered, leaning in to brush her lips over his.

“I love you.” He mouthed against her lips. 

A while later they lay and shared a cigarette, a tangle of sheets and limbs.

“I love you.” She said. He put out the cigarette and carefully shifted her so she laid with her back to his chest. He brushed her bare shoulder with his lips.

“I know.” 

Evie’s dreams that night were warm and safe and full of light, until she was startled awake by Tommy twitching and gasping in bed next to her. She shook him awake, stroking his hair and spilling soothing whispers as she let him pant into her lap until he came back to himself. He drew back, face dark and shuttered, not willing to look at her for a few long moments as she listened to him steady his breathing. 

“I’m gonna have pickaxes ringin’ in my head until the day I die.” he said quietly, the dark and grim hum of shame coloring his voice.

“Then we will brave them together” she whispered, slipping her hand into his before the guilt she knew so well could creep up his face. “Sleep. There are two of us against the nightmares, now.”


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick thing to note, I used a quote in Romany in this chapter that I first saw in the chapter notes of the fic "cross my palm with silver" by toraffles - SUPER beautiful fic I highly recommend you guys going and checking it out! I googled it and it's an old poem and I wanted to include it in some way.
> 
> I've really enjoyed writing this story, and if you guys have any ideas for future plots in this same little universe with Tommy and Evie I would love to hear them! I would love to write more of them.
> 
> Thanks for reading.

Evie was sat on the bank of the river under an old willow tree with an intricately woven tassled shawl of her mother’s draped around her shoulders like the heavy ermine cloak of a queen, the curls piled on top of her head seeming to crown her as they glowed gold in the dying light of the sun. She’d spent hours sifting through the boxes of her mother’s old jewelry and clothing, and as her fingers danced over the stems of the flowers she was weaving her bangles and charms clacked together. Tommy drank it in, their beautiful golden moment; the golden sun and her golden eyes and the golden warmth creeping through his body.

“You look like a proper _ chov’hani _.” She looked up and smiled, cheeks rosy from the sun.

_ “Ki shan i Romani, adoi san' i chov'hani.” _She quoted.

“Wherever the gypsies go, there the witches are, we know.” Tommy echoed.

“D’you ever think about what life would’ve been like if we’d been raised how our mothers had wanted?”

“Sometimes,” he murmured as he leaned back to stretch out in the soft grass, “would’ve been a simpler life, rattlin’ around in caravans and not having to worry about the business.” He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, opening them only when he heard her laugh.

“You look like a cat that’s just had its cream” she giggled, “all smug and stretched out and lazy.”

“Lazy?” He repeated in disbelief before settling his head back down and shutting his eyes again. “I am entitled to my rest and relaxation, woman.” She just giggled more, and he heard her rising from her throne of flowers on the riverbank to settle beside him, clicking beads and bracelets following her like a song. He cracked an eye to watch her warily as she brandished the wreath of wildflowers she’d finished weaving.

“Evelyn, there is no chance in hell you’re puttin’ those fuckin’ flowers on my head.” 

“Bah, you’re no fun. I’ll give them to Arthur, he’ll appreciate them.”

“Good, he can have ‘em.”

Tommy shifted to place his head in her lap, humming contentedly as she began to card through his hair. She started to sing, her voice floating high and clear above the gush of the river and dry rustle of the willow tree. Sweet and hopeful and bright, he wanted to drown in it, to let it sink down through his skin to wrap around his weary bones. He closed his eyes for a moment and drank it in, willing the moment to last forever. Her hands brushed down over his scalp to trail the line of his jaw, absentmindedly tracing loops and lines and tapping over his skin. Her voice dropped to a hum and when he opened his eyes she was gazing toward the setting sun with a content smile curling her lips, the light making her eyes glow like embers, warm and crackling and alive. 

Tommy watched for a moment and reached down into the tangle of wildflowers beside him to pluck a handful of small buttery Kingcup blossoms, fiddling with them as her voice mingled with the breeze through the tall meadow grass surrounding them.

She reached the end of her meandering song, and as her voice trailed off he reached for her left hand for a moment under the pretense of examining a ring of her mother’s, only to slip a small ring of tiny flowers of his own over her fourth finger.

She froze, looking down at the makeshift ring and then at him, eyes wide as saucers in her face. 

“Are you certain?” Her voice was hushed, as if speaking too loudly could change his mind in an instant. He squeezed the hand he was still holding, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.

“Never been more certain about anythin'.” She bent her head down to kiss him for a long moment, and when she broke away he saw her blink back tears.

“How long have you been plannin' this?” She asked, eyes impossibly tender as she stroked his hair.

“I haven’t,” he answered honestly. “Well,” he amended, “I was thinkin' about it, but hadn’t decided how. Not until tonight, watchin’ you against the sunset. I could look at that every day, for the rest of my days.” She squeezed his hand as he raised hers to his mouth, brushing his lips over her knuckles.

“For the rest of our days.”


	10. Author's Note

Hi all! For those of you who wanted more of Tommy and Evie, I just wanted to let you know that I posted a sequel! It;'s the next in this series and I would love for you guys to go check it out:) I'll probably go back and add to it/change some things but I would love to hear what you think! Feel free to leave suggestions for future fic ideas as well!

xoxo


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